


volume zero

by mildlydiscouraging



Series: in every universe [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Getting Together, M/M, Poetic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildlydiscouraging/pseuds/mildlydiscouraging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(originally posted 5/7/15 <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4271898/chapters/9677724/">here</a>)</p><p>It's easy to get lost, he finds. It's harder to care about how lost he already is.</p><p><b>12</b>. writer and editor au</p>
            </blockquote>





	volume zero

**Author's Note:**

> _[Anonymous asked](http://moonfullofstars.tumblr.com/post/123261255748/): 12 where dan writes really beautiful poetry and phil is like an underling who gets all the unsigned writers' stuff pushed on him and they've never met but phil's pretty sure he's in love with whoever d.j.h. is_

Phil hasn't even be able to drink his own coffee yet, too busy running around the office delivering them for others, and he's nowhere near awake enough to process why there's a giant stack of papers on his pathetically small desk.

"Ah, Phil," his manager PJ walks up behind him, "glad to see you made it in on time. I've got this pile of hopefuls for you to look through, just to see if any of them are worth the time to look over in detail. Think you can handle it?"

He kind of needs this internship desperately, so he nods and goes along with it, despite not quite knowing what "it" is. PJ leaves after clapping him on the shoulder and saying something about counting on him, and then Phil's left with a pile of paper higher than most books he reads.

It's easy to slog through the first couple of manuscripts; sci-fi scripts bursting with stereotypes and cliches, romance novels that would undoubtedly end up in the bedside drawers of lonely housewives, one children's book that's actually funny.

It's way past lunch before he gets to anything of substance, but even then there's very little of them that are actually worth saving. He can see why PJ had him go through the pile first, it's pretty much all shit.

He's at the very bottom of the pile when he finds it, buried under the pile of typos and tropes. Unlike the other double-spaced, sans serif printouts, it's an actual book, the first he's seen. The thin little thing is very obviously handmade as the first page almost falls out when Phil opens it.

That title page has "volume zero, d.j.h." written in spidery handwriting on it and the whole thing is intriguing enough that Phil has to set it aside so he can eat his lunch before he inevitably gets sucked into whatever is on those pages.

When he finishes his sandwich and brushes the remaining crumbs into one of the drawers of his desk, he pulls the book back out and starts at the beginning.

It's a book of poems, he finds, and he's never been that big of a fan of poetry, but something about this feels different. Every page leads to the next without really being connected, like there's something tugging him forward with every blank space.

It's easy to get lost, he finds. It's harder to care about how lost he already is.

<+><+><+>

> _(maybe its the sleep deprivation talking but i think i’m in love with you)_
> 
> 1.  
>  frozen fingers, empty sheets  
>  too melodramatic for even my dreams  
>  my hand goes numb unless its wrapped in yours  
>  my body heat
> 
> 2.  
>  i havent closed my eyes since you left my arms  
>  it makes it hard to sleep  
>  so the last week has been a blur of shadows into sun  
>  i feel like im drowning deep
> 
> 3.  
>  if i blink i know i’ll miss it  
>  so i’ll think twice before i think of you  
>  from this moment forward  
>  i cant ever move again
> 
> d.j.h.

"How's the pile going, Phil?"

His first reaction when he hears footsteps approaching is to slam the book shut. Looking up, he sees PJ standing over him from the opposite side of the desk. He also sees that the windows are way darker than they were the last time he looked up. Oops.

"Good," Phil casually slides the book under the desk and into his lap, "I'm just about finished."

"Any of it good?"

Phil shrugs, freeing one hand from the book to gesture uselessly at the pile in front of him.

PJ nods as though he was expecting that answer. "What about that book you've been so engrossed by for the past few hours?"

Sheepishly, Phil puts the thin volume back on his desk. He must have been less subtle than he had hoped.

"It's really good," he says, leaving one finger in the pages to mark his place. "It's a book of poems by someone called D.J.H.?"

"We've gotten some of his work before," PJ nods, "but I've just never had the time to read any of it, I'm just too busy. Do you like poetry then?"

"Not usually," Phil says, "but this is just different somehow."

PJ has a knowing look on his face when he starts walking backwards towards his office.

"Well, it's about time for you to go home," he says. "How about you take that home with you?"

By the time PJ finishes talking, Phil already has it in his bag.

<+><+><+>

"You were right, it's good."

PJ tosses the book on his desk. Over the past few days Phil had read and reread every poem in the book before reluctantly handing it back over. As much as he knew this D.J.H. deserved to be published and all, a part of him wanted to keep those poems to himself.

"We should talk to the author," he continues as he flips through the manila folder in his other hand. "Wanna meet him for coffee this afternoon?"

"What, me?" PJ nods. "But I don't know anything about actual publishing or contracts or anything like that; I'm barely an editor as is."

"Just talk to him," PJ says and hands him a slip of paper with the address of the coffee shop down the road from their office. "Get a feel for him, see if he actually wants to work with us. I can sort out any legalese later if he's worth it. I get the feeling he will be, though."

Phil's learned to trust PJ's feelings and that's how he finds himself sitting in the corner of the busy shop two hours later, one hand anxiously on the book of poems and the other wrapped around the smallest coffee he could get. His legs is bouncing nervously under the table and any more caffeine would probably break him.

He really wishes he had something to distract himself with, though. The waiting is killing him, and he can't really help it when he opens the book and starts reading again. After all, there are still a few poems he hasn't memorized yet.

Five pages later, he's interrupted by a polite cough. When he looks up at the man now standing at the end of his table, Phil is drawn immediately to his eyes. There's something turbulent and arresting about them, more beautiful than a shade of brown had any right to be.

Only when he coughs again does Phil realize how long he's been staring and he hastily stutters out an apology.

"No problem," the man says as slides into the seat across from Phil. "I assume you're the person I'm supposed to meet?"

"Oh," Phil waves the book around a little, "you're D.J.H.?"

The man ducks his head as he laughs awkwardly and brushes the hair out of his eyes.

With his hair just a little too messy, his fingers just a little too long, and the bags under his eyes just as dark as his clothes, he should be nothing more than the classic brooding artist type, but every time Phil feels about to make a snap judgement that look in his eyes comes back.

"Please, it's just Dan," he says, fiddling with the packets of sugar Phil had left scattered around the table from the last time he tried to distract himself.

"Dan," Phil repeats. "Well, I'm Phil, and you're beautiful."

Dan head shoots up at that and he stares at Phil until he realizes what he said.

"Your  _poems_ are beautiful," Phil corrects himself. "I mean, that's what I meant, not that you aren't too, but, I mean-"

Dan laughs again, more genuine this time, and Phil feels like maybe he didn't completely mess it up yet.

<+><+><+>

It comes up again on their third date (Chinese food on Dan's couch and whatever movie was on TV that night). It’s the first time Phil’s been to his apartment and it feels like he should be more surprised at the sheer amount of books everywhere.

"The thing I'm always most reluctant to tell people about is my writing," Dan says around a mouthful of rice, "so I guess it's kind of ironic that that's the first thing you knew about me."

"I'm glad it was," Phil leans back against the cushions and smiles when Dan follows him. "I feel like I knew you before I even really did, you know? I feel like  _you_ knew  _me_ , if that makes any sense."

"It does." Dan rests his arm on the back of the couch and reaches over Phil to grab the remote before shutting off the TV and leaning in at the same time.

<+><+><+>

Three months later Phil wakes up to the feeling of something tickling his arm.

Still too sleepy to be alarmed, he opens his eyes enough to see Dan bent over him, felt tip marker in hand as he writes on the back of Phil's arm.

"What are you doing?" His voice is rough from disuse, but Dan just smiles and continues writing.

His hair flops into his face in an almost childish way as the morning sunlight warms his back. There's some kind of music almost completely lost in the sound of cars driving below the apartment and Phil's own breathing. He can't quite make out the words, but he knows it's probably something indie and wistful, one of Dan's secret favorites.

"Writing," he replies eventually, drawing one last swoosh before releasing Phil's arm and leaning back against the pillows.

"'There's a tiny pocket of infinity in every time you look at me'," Phil reads as Dan finds his place against him. He twists his arm around to read everything as he feels Dan's breath against his neck.

"You're part of it too, you know," Dan whispers into his skin. "I think maybe you always were."

Phil leans over and kisses him as his ink-stained arm finds it's way around Dan's shoulders and settles there. It's enough. It's everything. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING but i havent listened to anything other than iron & wine all night and i love this prompt
> 
> (um also all the poetry here is mine from my blog [realitysface](http://realitysface.tumblr.com), so if you like it mayb u could check that out?)
> 
> prompt me here or on tumblr if you wanna see more of these!!
> 
> tumblr @[dweebhowell](http://dweebhowell.tumblr.com)


End file.
